


First Love

by ofplanet_earth



Series: They Say These are the Best Years [5]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Bard Bowman's amazing parents, Coming Out, Depression, Established Relationship, First Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Homophobia, M/M, Oropher's A+ parenting, The Princess and the Frog Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-08
Updated: 2017-11-08
Packaged: 2019-01-29 23:44:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12641715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofplanet_earth/pseuds/ofplanet_earth
Summary: Bard and Thranduil hadn’t really talked about whatever it was that had been growing between them. They hadn’t put their feelings in to words, hadn’t really said that there evenwerefeelings or decided whether or not they weretogether. Thranduil wasn’t sure if it was because they weren’t sure, or if it was because it didn’t need to be said. Probably a little bit of both.High School AU, takes place afterThe Princess and the Frogand subsequent stories.





	First Love

**Author's Note:**

> you guys! I'm so excited because not only is this my first Barduil fic in almost a year, it's also my first story for this year's National Novel Writing month!
> 
> what follows is pretty much a direct continuation of my high school AU series They Say These are the Best Years (AKA: The Princess and the Frog). this was requested by a wonderful anonymous reader on tumblr, and I'm really happy with how it came out! hopefully you enjoy it, too :) 
> 
> I plan to write three more fics this month (I'm working on the second one now), so if you have a story you'd really love to read, feel free to send me a request! 
> 
> also, if you're a writer and thinking about writing a story this month, I hope you'll post it to the Barduil NaNoWriMo [collection](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Barduil_NaNoWriMo)! send me a message on [tumblr](http://ofplanet-earth.tumblr.com) if you have any questions :)

Thranduil had fallen into a comfortable sort of routine over the past few months. He would snooze his alarm twice each morning, only dragging himself out of bed when it went off for a third time. He would play music on the mornings when his father was on a business trip or had simply left early for the office. He would spend a perfunctory ten minutes in front of the mirror, washing his face and brushing his hair— Bard liked to tease him about how long it took him to get ready, but that was only when indecision or self-doubt made him question the suggestive text on a T-shirt or the large rips in the thighs of his favorite pair of jeans. 

Sometimes he would catch a ride to school with Feren, who lived close enough that Thranduil’s house was on his way to school, but most days he put his headphones in and rode the bus. Some days he would join chat idly with Meludir and Tauriel during home room, but usually he just smiled and laughed at the appropriate intervals. He would sometimes sit with the three of them when they had the same lunch period, but most days, he sat with Bard, or he sat alone. 

He hadn’t noticed, before, how much his and Bard’s schedules overlapped. Most days he was happy for it. Today though, he just wanted to be left alone. 

Dread filled his stomach when he thought of the weekend that lay ahead of him; His father was hosting a dinner party on Friday, and Thranduil had to be there. It wasn’t so much that his father wanted his company, but it was what was _expected_. Really, Thranduil was just another thing for him to show off to his colleagues. Each of his father’s dinner parties began with a tour of their house— it was both historical and architecturally interesting, and his father never failed to point out an interesting facet of its design. Next came the pretentious critique of the impressive and nearly priceless collection of art his father had on display around the first floor, and after several courses of catered food, each the evening would invariably end with a bottle of something brown that had probably been aged longer than any of them had been alive. 

Thranduil's purpose was to float somewhere in the middle of all that, pristine and presentable. He was there so his father could brag about his grades and the internship he’d applied for, and the college acceptance letters that would soon be arriving. Really, he was more a topic of conversation than an active participant.

“Hey,” Bard said as he slid into the seat beside Thranduil’s. Although they’d been in AP English together all year, Thranduil had only moved to sit next to him sometime over the past month. They also shared Calculus, World History, and Desktop Publishing, which they’d both chosen to fill the empty period Anatomy had left after last semester. 

“Hey,” Thranduil replied, trying to shake himself out of his funk. 

“Did you finish the reading last night?” Bard asked as he pulled out his textbook. 

“Yeah,” was all Thranduil said. Days like today, he felt awkward around Bard. It felt stupid after everything that had happened between them, but sometimes he couldn’t help but to revert back to these superficial sort of interactions. It wasn’t Bard’s fault; Thranduil knew he was acting weird, that he should at least put some effort into the conversation, even if it felt perfunctory. 

“Well, kind of.” He closed his eyes and tried to focus on choosing his words and forcing himself to speak. “I didn’t read it last night. I mean—” Bard frowned as Thranduil shook his head again, took a deep breath and began to explain, forcing out each word with effort. “I skimmed the beginning of the first chapter last night, but I read this book last month.” 

“Oh,” Bard said, his tone giving away his slight surprise. Thranduil couldn’t tell if he was shocked to learn that Thranduil had already finished The Crucible or if he was just reacting to Thranduil acting weird. “Cool. I haven’t finished it, but I am enjoying it. I just really hate having to pick it all apart during class.” 

Thranduil already knew this about Bard, and the realization warmed him slightly. It had been a while since he’d bothered to get to know someone well enough to become familiar with these kinds of things, even longer since he’d cared enough about someone to remember them. Thranduil smiled, and he was relieved to find that it came easily. Class began then, but he could see Bard glance over at him again, his boot edging its way out from under his desk to nudge at Thranduil’s ankle. Thranduil nudged back. 

He was feeling better already.

✥

Thranduil didn’t take the bus home. Instead, he and Bard made their way to the library after the last bell. When his father asked, he would tell him he’d been working on an English assignment. Sometimes he did work on homework, but if he was being honest, he just didn’t want to go home. Bard didn’t seem to mind either way. They settled at a table in the far corner of the library, but neither of them bothered to pull out their textbooks.

It was easy to be with Bard like this, easy in a way Thranduil had never experienced with anyone. Bard didn’t care if he didn’t have anything clever to say, didn’t care if he chose not to say anything at all. Thranduil slouched in his chair and lay his forehead on the table, unable to fight the exhaustion of the day.

“You alright? You seem a bit off today.” 

“Mmmmff,” Thranduil replied, as if the muffled sound was enough to explain everything he was feeling. Maybe it was. He didn’t think he could explain it any better with actual words. 

Bard laughed. “What project are we working on today?” 

“A paper on Puritan society in literature.” 

Bard blinked. “We don’t actually have to write that, do we? I may not have been paying attention to the whole class this morning, but I didn’t think I’d missed that much.”

“Oh, yes. It’s a massive, intensely through assignment. It’ll take several hours spread over many days, and we’re only in the research phase right now.” A grin broke through Thranduil’s feigned serious expression. 

“You know,” Bard leaned forward to prop his chin on top of his arms where they were crossed on the tabletop, leveling his gaze with Thranduil’s. “We don’t actually have to spend the whole afternoon in the library.” 

“It’s the easiest excuse. Better for me to be hard at work on my education than to be hanging out with friends.” 

“I’m not saying it’s not the best excuse, I’m just saying that we don’t actually have to _be_ here.” 

Thranduil pursed his lips, giving Bard a sidelong glance. It was true, using the library as an excuse would still work even if they spent their time somewhere else. He was already lying to his father about what he was doing. What dit it matter if he lied about where he was, too? Thranduil knew was lucky enough that Bard agreed to spend most afternoons with him, anyway. He didn’t want to test the limits of their friendship by forcing him to sit in the library every day. 

“What would you suggest?” 

Bard shrugged. “We could go see a movie. We could go grab some pizza.”

“Probably not the best idea to risk being caught in public, even if the chances of nuclear fallout greatly outweigh the chances that my father would ever step foot into a fast food joint.” 

“We could…” Bard tapped his pursed lips as he studied the ceiling, an act Thranduil recognized as a feigned dramatization of deep thought. “We could hang out at my place,” he shrugged. 

Thranduil nearly rolled his eyes. Bard was always suggesting they hang out at his place, and Thranduil almost always turned him down, though he hadn’t really thought about it enough to figure out why. He knew Bard brought it up so often because it was a place where they could listen to music and laugh without being shushed. A place where they could hang out without having to worry about anybody judging them.

He thought about Bard’s house, of the warmth and the fullness of it. The way the sounds of video games and phone conversations would carry throughout the house, making everything feel close without ever feeling too crowded. He thought of the way laughter and hugs were exchanged easily every day, how every room was filled to bursting with memories. It made Thranduil's chest ache in a way he struggled to identify, and it made him feel cold when he eventually had to leave. 

He thought about Bard’s bedroom, of the way his lips felt pressed against the overheated skin of Thranduil’s neck, and how his hands felt tangled in his hair. Thranduil’s cheeks burned and Bard gave him a knowing grin. Just like Thranduil was memorizing so many of Bard’s quirks, Bard was getting to know him better, too. 

“Alright.” Thranduil decided abruptly. He stood and swiped his backpack off the table, slinging it over one shoulder. 

“Really?” Bard frowned, still sitting at the table. Clearly he hadn’t expected Thranduil to agree. 

“Yeah, why not?” 

“I dunno. You never want to hang out at my house.” 

Thranduil shrugged, though that wasn’t really the truth. He hardly ever _agreed_ to hang out at Bard’s house, but it wasn’t because he didn’t want to. He didn’t tell Bard that the truth was exactly the opposite— that he always wanted to spend time at Bard’s house, that he never wanted to leave. He didn’t say that he wished he could have what Bard had: a family and a home and people who loved him.

He didn’t say any of those things. Instead, he simply said, “I don’t mind,” because that was as close to the truth as Thranduil was prepared to get.

✥

It was too cold for Bard to ride his motorcycle to school anymore, though he hated to admit it. He’d stubbornly taken it to school well into December, right up until the first snow of the season. His father had tried to get him to take the bus and, when that failed, had begun negotiating with him. He’d offered his old truck the same way he had offered his own motorcycle the year before, telling Bard that if he could get it running, he could keep it.

The truck had belonged to Bard’s grandfather before his dad ever owned it, and it was practically ancient. The transmission had needed to be repaired, the ignition had been shot, and it’d been leaking power steering fluid, but Bard had only had to take the bus for a week before he’d had it all fixed.

Now it was mid January and although he still missed his bike, he supposed he couldn’t complain. Heff— that was what his father had called it, offering an explanation about the truck’s size that was derogatory enough that he wouldn’t share it in the presence of his wife or daughters— was at least fifty years old, turning brown with rust and significantly less cool than his motorcycle, but at least the heating worked. 

Thranduil shivered slightly in the passenger’s seat, holding his hands up to the nearest vent like it was a campfire. Excitement buzzed in Bard’s chest as he navigated the familiar streets, shifting easily from second to third gear. It was Thursday afternoon, all the possibility of the weekend hanging just over the horizon. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Thranduil was watching him. 

“See anything you like?” He asked with a smirk, taking his eyes off the road only long enough to see Thranduil turn sharply to look out the window, a blush burning high on his cheeks. There was very little Bard enjoyed more than making him blush. 

“Shut up,” Thranduil muttered, but Bard glanced back over and caught his eyes for a moment. “Watch the road,” he chastised. Bard turned his attention back to the road. 

He wasn’t sure what it was that he and Thranduil had between them. They were friends, obviously, but it was more than that. They’d been spending more and more time together ever since their Anatomy lab. Without any sort of discussion or acknowledgement, they’d begun sitting together in all the classes they shared and meeting in the library after school. Bard would zone out during class and find himself staring at the way Thranduil fidgeted distractedly with his pen, Bard’s eyes tracking every minute movement almost without his brain’s permission. 

And whenever they spent time alone— not like they were in the library, but really, _truly_ alone— Bard couldn’t focus on anything besides the way Thranduil bit his lip when he was concentrating, or how he tipped his head back when he laughed, or his blissful smile when he heard the first notes of a really good song began to play. Moments like that, it took all of Bard’s self-control to keep from kissing Thranduil. 

Sometimes his self-control failed him, but Bard could never find it in himself to feel bad about it. 

Without any discussion or acknowledgment, this had become the norm. His friends were constantly quizzing Bard about their relationship. Percy always referred to Thranduil as Bard’s girlfriend, asking _have you set a date yet?_. The only effect it had was that Bard spent less time with Percy, and more time with Thranduil. 

They pulled into Bard’s driveway, but they made no move to leave the truck, neither of them eager to step out into the cold afternoon air. “It’s warmer inside,” Bard said, as much to himself as to Thranduil. “And it’s only like, twenty feet to the door,” 

“It’s so cold,” Thranduil shivered again. “Could you go unlock it first?” 

“And freeze my ass off so you can avoid a few seconds of cold? I don’t think so, Princess.” Thranduil whined, but the cab flooded with icy air when he opened the driver’s side door, and Thranduil was forced to shove open his own door too. He slammed it shut and rushed ahead, somehow managing to make it to the front door before Bard did. Thranduil hugged his arms tight around his waist and bounced impatiently on his toes while Bard fumbled with the keys.

He unlocked the door and threw it open, barely pausing so Thranduil could hurry in ahead of him before swinging it firmly shut behind them. 

“Holy shit,” Thranduil hissed, “I hate winter.” He shook out his hands and stood stiffly in the entryway.

“It’s not that bad,” Bard laughed, hanging his coat up on its hook.

Instead of responding, Thranduil stepped right up beside him and pressed his hands to the skin of Bard’s neck. “Jesus christ!” Bard yelped, “You’re a freaking icicle!” 

“I know,” Thranduil’s voice shook as he tried to huddle closer, ducking his head to try and press it into Bard’s shoulder. He was taller than Bard though, and the effect was somewhat lessened. 

“Go sit on the couch and huddle beneath a blanket. I’ll make some hot cocoa.” Thranduil whined again, but managed to tear himself away after a moment. “And take off your coat and boots, you’ll warm faster,” Bard said as he turned toward the kitchen. He filled the kettle with water and set the burner on high before pulling down two mugs from the cupboard.

“Bard,” Thranduil called, his voice slightly muffled. 

“Yeah?” Bard replied, trying to remember where his mom kept the cocoa mix.

“Blankets only help when there’s heat to insulate, and I have none.” 

“You have _some_ heat,” Bard laughed as he put the search for cocoa on hold and made his way toward the living room. “Otherwise you’d be— oh my god.” Bard froze in the doorway when he saw Thranduil. He was on the couch and huddled beneath a mountain of blankets. He had his knees pulled into his chest and at least four throw blankets wrapped tightly all the way to his nose. It was the most adorable, most ridiculous thing Bard had ever seen. “You look like a lumpy cocoon with blond hair.” 

Thranduil glared, but said nothing. One hand poked out from beneath the blankets and motioned for Bard to come closer. Bard sat on the couch beside the Thranduil-shaped cocoon, only to be immediately enveloped by a curtain of fleece. Thranduil shuffled closer, tucking his hands between their bodies and pressing his cold nose into the crook of Bard’s neck. 

By the time the kettle began to whistle, Thranduil had finally stopped shivering, but he grumbled his displeasure when Bard tried to stand. “Do you want hot cocoa or don’t you?” Thranduil pressed in closer for a moment before he finally released him. 

Bard took the kettle off the heat, finally found the cocoa mix in the pantry, and he was pouring steaming water over the chocolate powder when a pair of hands wrapped around his waist from behind, still slightly cool through the fabric of his shirt. 

“You know,” he said, mixing both mugs with a spoon, “I’m starting to think you have an ulterior motive. If you wanted to cuddle, you could have just said so.” 

“Mmm.” Bard wasn’t sure if the noise was more of a hum or a grumble, but it made him smile either way. He turned to face Thranduil, who was only slightly bothered by having to rearrange himself once Bard pressed the warm mug of coca into his hands. “Thanks,” Thranduil said, his breath billowing in the steam from his mug. He made no move to step, so Bard didn’t either. They stood beside the stove, close enough that Thranduil's breath still tickled Bard’s skin. 

Bard took Thranduil’s mug when the cocoa was gone, and again Thranduil’s hands returned to curl against Bard’s neck. Thranduil’s palms were still pink from the heat of the cocoa, so he probably didn’t need to warm his hands anymore, but Bard didn’t point it out. Thranduil’s eyes slid closed and he bent to rest his forehead against Bard’s. 

Bard sighed contentedly, inhaling the scent of Thranduil’s shampoo and the lingering smell of crisp air that still clung to them both. He still had a blanket draped over his shoulders and wrapped around his arms, and Bard stepped closer into the warmth of it, hands finding the soft wool of Thranduil’s sweater and the cotton of his shirt beneath it. 

He hadn’t meant it as anything more than what it was; no hidden questions or expectations, but Thranduil pulled him closer anyway, until they were pressed together and surrounded by green fleece. Bard's fingers tightened in Thranduil’s shirt and Thranduil tilted Bard’s chin, one hand combing through his hair as they kissed, soft and unhurried. His mouth was warm and his tongue tasted like chocolate, and Bard’s head was swimming. He never wanted to move from this spot. 

And then, all at once, there was the sound of the front door opening, the gust of cold air whipping Thranduil’s hair into Bard’s face, and the sound of his mother calling from the entryway. “Hey boys,” she said, breathing heavily. 

Thranduil pulled away so quickly it left Bard more than a little off balance. He steadied himself on the counter while Thranduil took another step away, head down, cheeks burning, blanket clutched tightly around him. 

“Hey mom,” Bard said, but not before taking a moment to catch his breath. He wiped at the corner of his mouth as his mom set down grocery bags on the kitchen table. 

“No project to work on today?” She asked with a raised eyebrow and a knowing smile. 

“Ah, no,” Bard stammered. “We just had some uh— some cocoa, and now we’re going to go upstairs.” Thranduil took his cue and began walking toward the stairs without a word, and without waiting for Bard to follow. 

“Alright,” his mom laughed. “Your father is making dinner tonight, so who knows when we’ll be eating.” 

“Okay,” Bard called over his shoulder. By the time he reached the top of the stairs Thranduil was already in his bedroom, face pale, eyes and mouth pulled into a tight mask of worry. 

“What did she say?” 

“Uh,” Bard leaned against the door as it clicked closed behind him. “That my dad is making dinner tonight?” 

“No, I mean about— about—“ Thranduil motioned wildly with his hands. He still clutched tightly to the edges of the blanket, and it made him look a little bit like a flailing, flapping bird. Bard bit his cheek, struggling to keep a straight face.

“About us?” 

“Yeah,” Thranduil began to pace the length of the room, blanket flowing anxiously behind him.

“…Nothing,” Bard shrugged. “Why would she?” 

“Because she _saw_ us. She had to, we were _right there_ and—“ 

“Hey, it’s okay Princess.” Bard reached for him but Thranduil tried to pull away, forcing Bard to follow. He placed his hands on Thranduil’s shoulders, trying to calm him. “She doesn’t care.” 

“How do you know that?”

“Because we’ve talked about it.” Bard reached out again, hesitantly, and Thranduil let him brush the hair out of his face, hand coming to rest on the tense line of his jaw.

“What do you mean?” Thranduil swallowed visibly, the tendons in his throat standing up. His eyes were frantic and wide but at least he’d stopped pacing. “Talked about— you and me?” 

“Not about you, specifically, though I’m sure they’ve figured that one out already. But they know I like guys. They’ve known for a while, and they were actually really great about it.” 

“They’re not— I mean, they didn’t—“ 

“Thran, what—“ Suddenly, Bard thought he understood. “Did something happen with your dad?” Thranduil didn’t answer, only dropped his gaze down and away. Suddenly, Bard was thinking of all the hours Thranduil had spent in the library after school, even when he hadn’t had any work to do; all the excuses he used to avoid having to go home. “Did he—“ Nausea and fury roiled in his stomach, bubbled into his throat, but he managed to ask, “he doesn’t— hurt you— does he?” 

Thranduil shook his head, though he still wouldn’t meet Bard’s eyes. “No,” he finally mumbled. “But if he finds out— if your parents tell him, or—“ 

“No, hey, of course not!” Bard tipped Thranduil’s chin up enough so he could see his eyes, brushed his hair behind his ear again even though he didn’t need to. “They would never. And besides, you said it yourself: nuclear fallout is more likely than your father even being in the same place as my parents. 

Thranduil nodded reluctantly, and Bard pressed a kiss to the worried lines creasing his forehead. “It’s okay, I promise. Come on. We can put on some music or watch a movie or something.” 

Thranduil nodded, and Bard pulled his phone out of his pocket, offering it to Thranduil so he could choose a distraction. He took it and tapped at the screen while Bard sat on his unmade bed, propped his pillow against the headboard and leaning against it.

A moment later, Bard could hear music coming from his phone, though he couldn’t quite make out which song it was until Thranduil plugged it in to little sound system Bard had set up on the bookshelf. He smiled. It was the first song of a playlist they had both been working on for a few months, each adding and rearranging songs every time they passed it back and forth. 

Thranduil joined Bard on the bed and stretched out beside him, picking his arm up by the wrist so he could lie down with his head on Bard’s chest. Bard let him maneuver his arm while he squirmed and shuffled closer. When he finally settled, Thranduil was pressed flush against him, one leg bent and curled up around Bard’s, and their fingers were tangled together. 

Bard smiled as Thranduil sighed, feeling absurdly happy just to be able to have him this close.

✥

The next thing Thranduil heard was the soft rumbling of Bard’s voice pressed close against his ear. He felt warm and heavy, and he didn’t want to move. Distantly, he heard the soft click of a door and felt Bard’s chest rise deeply beneath him.

“Hey Princess,” Bard spoke again, drawing Thranduil regretfully further from sleep. 

“Mmmm,” he mumbled in response, his hazy mind slow to remember what had lead him there. He stretched and inhaled deeply, brain sleepily cataloguing the soft cotton against his cheek and the hard press of ribs beneath his hand, the spicy smell of Bard’s body wash sharp in his nose, the fingers gently squeezing his where he still held Bard’s hand. Music was playing softly in the background.

“Do you want to stay for dinner?” 

Thranduil inhaled again, turning to press himself closer before he finally peeled himself up. He opened his eyes to see Bard leaning back against his headboard, a book facedown on the mattress beside him and a soft smile on his face, more eye wrinkles and cheek dimples than anything else. 

“What time is it?” 

“It’s almost six.” 

“Shit,” Thranduil’s voice was still gravelly with sleep and his eyes were dry and heavy. “I should… I should go home.” He sat up on the bed, but he made no effort to move further. 

“Okay,” Bard said, though he didn’t seem to be in much of a hurry, either. He stretched his arms above his head and arched his back, and then seemed to deflate as he relaxed into the bed again. Thranduil was seriously tempted to lie back down beside him. 

“Stop looking so comfortable,” he whined and drew his knees into his chest. The fleece blanket he’d been huddling in earlier in the afternoon lay rumpled beside him, and he had to force himself not to pull it back up over his shoulders.

“Can’t help it,” Bard smirked. “I’m extremely cuddle-able. It’s one of my inherent traits, along with my dashing good looks.” 

“Not to mention your humility.” Thranduil rolled his eyes. 

“That’s me,” Bard beamed before finally sitting up and shooing a very reluctant Thranduil off of his bed. They’d both left their backpacks downstairs, along with their shoes and coats, and Thranduil found himself disappointed they didn’t have an excuse to delay any longer. 

It was even colder outside than it had been earlier in the day, and Bard insisted they sit in the truck while it warmed up, rather than linger inside the house and be forced to make small talk with his parents. Thranduil didn’t argue— he was still embarrassed and he wasn’t eager to face them. 

Bard plugged his phone in— the truck had a radio and an old tape deck that Bard’s father had installed himself sometime in the eighties, and the only way it would play modern music was through an auxiliary cord wired in to a dummy cassette. The gears inside the fake tape didn’t turn, and as a result it produced a constant but irregular clicking sound— even when there was music playing, it was still audible. But the sound had become a part of the old truck, intrinsic as the wheeze and whine of the ancient engine. Thranduil had come to find it almost comforting. 

He slid across the bench seat and tucked both his hands beneath Bard’s coat to keep them warm. Then he pressed his nose into Bard’s neck for good measure. Bard wrapped his arms around Thranduil and pressed his cheek to Thranduil’s head, and they both stayed that way while the music played.

“The engine’s probably warm enough now,” Bard murmured after ten minutes of this. Thranduil may have imagined it, but he almost looked as disappointed as Thranduil felt when he was forced to slide back to the passenger seat and buckled his seat belt. 

The drive didn’t take long, and soon they were pulling up to Thranduil’s house. Bard hadn’t made any comment about the size or extravagance of it in ages; not since Thranduil had begun confiding in him about how much he hated the place. 

Thranduil offered a stiff goodbye, trying his best to ignore the disappointment— or maybe it was worry— that flickered across Bard’s face when he reached for the door handle. Thranduil hated leaving it that way, but he couldn’t risk anything more in case his father was home. He felt sure that Bard understood that, now.

His father was home, as it turned out. Thranduil burst through the front door after fumbling with his keys and frozen fingers, toeing off his boots and pulling off his coat to hang it in the closet. He couldn’t bring himself to take off his scarf though, still chilled to the bone, and left it tied around his neck as he carried his backpack toward the stairs. 

“Where have you been?” His father asked. The house was as cold and as quiet as a museum, each room large and cavernous, but Oropher’s voice filled the space as if it had been made for it. Thranduil turned to find him in the sitting room, reclining in a leather arm chair, a glass of wine in one hand and a black leather portfolio in the other. 

“I was working on a project at the library,” Thranduil said. The lie was second-nature, but it left a sour taste in his mouth. 

“I didn’t know the library was open so late.” 

“It’s not,” Thranduil’s heart was beating fast, and he could hear the anemic sound of Bard’s truck just beginning to pull away outside. His father turned his head to look out the window. “It closed before we were done working, so my friend and I went to his house to finish up.” 

“What assignment is it this time?” It could be Thranduil’s imagination, but he could swear he heard a note of disbelief in his father’s bored tone. 

“Representations of Puritan society in literature.” Again, the lie came easily, but Thranduil’s heart rate only increased. “We’re reading the Crucible.” 

“You’ve had quite a lot of group projects this year.” There was the disbelief again; Thranduil knew he couldn’t be imagining it. 

“Yeah, tell me about it.” Thranduil tried to disguise the waver in his voice. “All the teachers are doing it. It’s a school-wide initiative. They’re trying to promote teamwork or… something.” 

His father shrugged, though it was a significantly less casual and decidedly more derisive motion coming from him. “I wish they would at least pair you with someone on your own level.” 

“He’s a good student,” Thranduil said, though he knew perfectly well his father was not talking about Bard’s academic performance.

“Still,” his father continued, “At least it’s not the boy with the motorcycle, I suppose. You don’t want to spend more time with his…” here, his father paused, seeming to consider his next word, spitting it out as though the word itself were a disease. “ _Type_. People would start to talk.” 

Thranduil didn’t need to ask what that was supposed to mean. He clenched his teeth, knowing that if he said anything in response it would only give him away, would only make the situation worse. He nodded stiffly and turned back toward the stairs without another word, fury and hurt and resentment prickling at his eyes as he closed his bedroom door.

✥

The next day, Bard was sure something was wrong. Thranduil was silent all through World History, he barely met Bard’s eyes, and when he did it was only briefly, a flash of blue before he turned back to his textbook.

He wondered, as he had before, how he could ever have thought Thranduil was cold or stuck up. How could he ever have seen the rigid set of his shoulders and the stony expression he so often wore and mistaken it for anything besides sadness? The thought solidified in Bard’s mind the more he turned it over: Thranduil was sad. Not sad like most people were sad, but actually, truly _unhappy_. 

Over the months that Bard had gotten to know him, he’d discovered Thranduil to be bright, vibrant, cheeky and animated, and now he could see that boy was nowhere to be found. 

Bard pulled a sheet of paper from his notebook and scribbled a note before sliding it across the double wide table that served as their desk. _everything ok? you seem down._

Thranduil picked up the paper and set it discretely on top of his own notebook. Bard watched as he gave it a cursory glance and then replied, sliding it back across the table to Bard. _fine. just tired._

Bard turned to look at Thranduil, not even bothering to try and be subtle. He saw a muscle jump in Thranduil’s jaw, his eyes never leaving his textbook. He’d taken no notes and Bard could tell he wasn’t paying any attention to the lecture. He knew Thranduil’s excuse was bullshit, but he let it be until the end of class. 

When the bell rang, Bard seized his chance. “Hey,” he said, “Library after school today?” 

“I don’t know,” Thranduil sighed. “My dad is having this dinner thing today and he’ll be pissed if I’m late.” 

“Okay,” Bard frowned. He wasn’t sure how early Thranduil would have to be home for a dinner, but he didn’t ask. “Well I can give you a ride home anyway, if you want.” 

“Maybe.” Thranduil stood and gathered his textbook, flipping his notebook closed, hiding the open page where the date was the only thing he’d written throughout the whole class. He still hadn’t looked at Bard. 

“Thran, hey,” he tried again, reaching out to stop him with a hand on his arm. Thranduil turned, his eyes flicking around the room nervously before finally landing on Bard. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing,” Thranduil said. “I told you, I’m just tired.” 

“Being tired makes you ashamed to be seen talking me?” 

“Of course not. It’s not like that, Bard you know it isn’t. I don’t give a shit what they think.” 

“What then? Because you’re acting weird and I’m worried about you.” 

“I don’t— I don’t care what they think, but if the wrong person sees the wrong thing then the whole school will be talking about it and—“ 

“And what? What are you worried about?” 

“If my dad somehow hears about it…” 

“Why would he?” Bard frowned, not really following Thranduil’s logic. “Does he talk to a lot of high school students?” 

“Boys?” Bard looked around to see that the classroom had emptied out apart from the two of them. Mr Peredhil stood behind his desk, looking at them over the rims of his wireframe glasses. “Everything alright?” 

“Yes— yeah. Everything’s fine,” Thranduil replied immediately. He gave Bard a look, one that very clearly said _not here_ , and walked out of the classroom. Bard followed him down the hall to his locker and Thranduil cast a weary eye around them again. The look Thranduil gave him then was sharp, but Bard didn’t think it was angry. It was… 

“You’re scared,” Bard realized. It wasn’t really a question, but that didn’t seem to matter because Thranduil didn’t reply, only averted his eyes. It was enough. “What are you worried he’ll do?” 

“I don’t know.” Thranduil began working on the combination to his locker, but he didn’t do anything besides stare inside once it was open. “I’m not worried he’ll hit me or anything. He’s not _violent_ , he’s never touched me. But he’s already suspicious and I just— I don’t _know_ what he’ll do.” 

“Okay,” Bard said after a moment. “Come to the library this afternoon and we can figure something out, alright? I’ll make sure you get home early, just please be there.” 

Thranduil seemed to consider it for a moment before he finally nodded, sending an overwhelming wave of relief through Bard’s chest. He offered a reassuring smile, relieved when Thranduil returned it with a small one of his own, and headed off toward his next class. 

He didn’t see Thranduil for the rest of the day, and he couldn’t focus on a single lecture, thoughts worried and caught up in what may or may not happen. 

Dread pooled in his gut when he arrived at the library to find their usual table empty. He sat down and pulled his phone from his pocket, checking for text messages and trying to act casual while he waited. When he finally saw Thranduil, his shoulders sagged in relief. He stood up to meet him and wrapped his arms tightly around him. He hadn’t realized until then just how anxious he’d been, not knowing how Thranduil was, and he could feel the tension melting off of him. 

Bard half expected Thranduil to pull away, to scan the room for curious eyes, but he didn’t. He clung fiercely to Bard, making himself small as he ducked his head and hunched his shoulders. Bard ran a hand over the back of his head and turned to press his lips to the soft sheen of Thranduil’s hair. They would figure this out together, he knew that for a certainty. He couldn’t lose Thranduil, not now, and there was no way he was going to leave him alone. Not like this. Not ever.

✥

“Bard, I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

Bard shrugged. “Good thing you didn’t have to ask.” Thranduil sighed. That so was not the point. “I already talked to my parents about it.” 

“Oh my god, what did you say?” 

“That you might need a place to stay for a while.” 

“And why do they think I might need a place to stay?” 

Bard shrugged again. “Family stuff.” 

“ _Family stuff?_ ” Thranduil hissed. “What does that even mean?”

“I don’t know, maybe it means your dad is on an extended business trip, or your house is being fumigated. We’ll figure it out if we need to.” 

“I can’t believe you got your parents involved. What am I supposed to say the next time I see them?” 

“You don’t have to say anything. My parents would be happy to do it for no reason at all. And besides, nothing is even happening yet so just don’t worry about it.” 

“I feel like we’re overreacting.” Thranduil dropped his head into his hands and scraped his fingers through his hair. He didn’t want to think about this anymore. He’d rather be actually working on schoolwork. “I told you, I’m not in danger, there’s no reason to be planning some… great escape plan, or whatever.” 

“Thran, just because you’re not in danger doesn’t mean there’s not a problem.” Bard was frantic, his words coming faster and more desperate. “You don’t deserve to live your life feeling this way. It’s not okay and I can’t just sit here and do nothing about it. I can’t let you go back to that house every day feeling like no one loves you because it’s not true.” He was breathing heavily and his cheeks were growing flushed when he finally stopped talking. 

It took a moment for Thranduil to catch up to everything he’d said, even longer to try and process it. _It’s not true_. What did that mean? 

“What do you mean?” he asked. They hadn’t really talked about whatever it was that had been growing between them. They hadn’t put their feelings in to words, hadn’t really said that there even _were_ feelings or decided whether or not they were _together_. Thranduil wasn’t sure if it was because they weren’t sure, or if it was because it didn’t need to be said. Probably a little bit of both. 

“I know we’re not—“ Bard’s mouth opened and closed several times before he seemed to find the words he was searching for. “I know we’re not technically… dating, but I care about you. I care about you a lot. And if I’m honest with myself, I’ve thought of you as my boyfriend for a while now. I think about you all the time and I can’t imagine what my life would be like without you in it.” 

Thranduil felt like he was drowning. His mind was reeling. He felt as though something fundamental about the world had changed right in front of him, and all he could do was stare. Bard looked so open and so sincere, like he felt so _much_ that it almost pained him. “But what you said…” 

Bard closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I’m in love with you,” he said, the confession coming out on a great gusting sigh. “I mean, I know we’re just kids, and what could I possibly know about love, but—“

Thranduil didn’t let him finish. He surged forward in his chair, reached out and grasped Bard’s chin in both hands. Suddenly, it didn’t matter what his father thought or what he might do if he found out. None of it mattered because Thranduil had someone who cared about him, someone who _loved_ him. Someone who would be there for him even if everything else went to shit.

Thranduil kissed him then, without any care for who might be watching. It wasn’t anything like the kisses they’d shared the day before; there was nothing slow or gentle about it, all tongue and teeth and frantic, clutching hands. Thranduil felt fierce and desperate, and he didn’t hold back. He kissed Bard like he thought the world was ending, like he was the only thing that mattered, because in that moment, he was. 

“No one has ever said that to me before,” Thranduil said when they finally broke for air, still close enough that their noses brushed against each other and Bard’s breath gusted over his lips, making his skin feel warm and humid. “Nobody, not since I was a little kid.” 

Bard frowned. “No one?” 

“No one,” Thranduil repeated. The last time he’d heard those words was the last time he’d seen his mother before she died. He traced the line of Bard’s jaw with his thumb and worried at the curly hair behind his ears. he studied the shape of his lips like he could somehow capture the memory of them shaping those words and keep it forever. “How can you be sure that what you’re feeling is… how do you even know?” 

“I don’t know,” Bard confessed. “I just… you smile and it makes me feel happy, you look at me and my heart starts to race. I want to be with you every second of every day and I can’t stand the thought of you being so—“ Bard faltered, squeezing his eyes shut like he’d seen something terrible. “I saw you in class this morning and you just looked so depressed. Not just unhappy but actually, truly _miserable_ , and it turned my stomach in knots. I wanted to fix it but I didn’t know how.” 

Maybe it was silly, but Thranduil had thought he covered it up pretty well. He hadn’t thought Bard would have been able to tell. “Maybe I was overreacting by asking my parents if you could stay, but I had to do _something_ and it was the only thing I could think of. I hope— Are you really angry? That I asked them?” 

Thranduil shook his head slowly, mind still caught on the sound of those words in Bard’s voice, his memory already beginning to distort them, like a tape that’d been played so many time it had begun to stretch. It still didn’t make sense. Thranduil had spent so many years feeling unlovable, forced to be content with the certainty of it for so long that he couldn’t imagine a world in which it wasn’t true. “I didn’t think… that anybody… that any one _could_ …”

“I love you, Thranduil.” The words seemed to solidify in the few inches of air left between them and Thranduil’s heart surged at the sound. “I love you so much.” He was staring again, could feel the prickle of tears beginning to pool in his eyes. “Please don’t cry,” Bard whispered and brushed back the hair that had fallen into Thranduil’s face. 

Thranduil covered Bard’s hand with his own, holding Bard’s palm to his cheek like a lifeline. He closed the small space between them and kissed him again, slow and soft and so, so gentle. “I love you too.”

 

Bard drove Thranduil home shortly after, though Thranduil no longer felt so worried about what his father might say if he got home late. He lingered in the old truck, tracing a crack in the leather seat with an idle finger. The driveway was empty and Thranduil felt lighter, somehow, as though he’d thrown a huge weight off his shoulders. 

It left him feeling reckless. He leaned across the empty seat between them and pressed a kiss to the corner of Bard’s mouth, the only part of him he could reach until Bard twisted inside his seatbelt to turn his whole body toward Thranduil. 

“I miss you already,” Bard murmured against Thranduil’s lips. “Call me tomorrow?” 

Thranduil nodded, smiling so wide that it might have made their next kiss awkward if either of them cared that Bard's only kissed his teeth. Thranduil still thought it was perfect. They could have stayed there for hours more, but Thranduil forced himself to pull away, trying to remember how risky it was to act this way when his father could be home, could be watching them through any number of windows. 

He climbed reluctantly out of the truck and walked the distance to the front door, turning to look back as Bard drove slowly away. He thought of the dinner party his father had planned, surprised to find that the idea of it no longer filled him with dread like it had that morning.

He opened the front door and stepped inside. The house was quiet and still. Not even the catering company his father had hired were there yet. Thranduil smiled as he climbed the stairs. He put music on when he got to his room, turning the volume up higher than he’d dared to do in months. 

When his father did return home, he was too distracted to do anything more than call up the stairs to _turn down that racket_ , but Thranduil pretended he couldn’t hear him. When the guests began to arrive, Thranduil stood dutifully beside his father, greeting everyone with a smile and a polite hello. 

He was surprised to find that he didn’t mind the dull conversation or the passive-aggressive compliments. He realized, somewhere between the second and third courses, that none of it mattered. This was his father’s world, his father’s life: not his. He could sit down to dinner with the Esgaroth elite, he could make inane chit chat and play the part of the dutiful son, but he was not one of them. He didn’t need to live his father’s life. He was perfectly capable of making his own choices. 

And he knew with a fierce certainty that he would choose Bard. Every single time.

There was a text message waiting for him when he climbed into bed later that night. It was only a little red emoji heart, but it was from Bard and it sent warmth spreading throughout Thranduil’s chest. He fell asleep quickly, feeling giddy with the certainty that everything would be fine.

✥

Bard was standing at the kitchen sink when his phone began to vibrate inside his pocket. He was elbow deep in soapy water, washing dishes from breakfast before handing them over to his father to dry. Normally, he might have ignored it, but Thranduil had said he’d call today, and just the thought of it sent a spark of adrenaline through him. He shut off the water, dried his hands with the dishcloth his father was holding, and pulled his phone from his pocket.

It was Thranduil. 

“Hey!” Bard answered immediately, completely unable to help the wide smile that spread over his face. His father stared at him, towel still held up as if he expected Bard to be hand him the next clean plate. Bard gave him a pleading look, mouthing _Thranduil_ in a silent request to be released from dish duty. 

His dad rolled his eyes and waved Bard away, the dish towel in his hand just barely flicking Bard on the shoulder as he turned to leave the kitchen. 

“Hey,” Thranduil replied. “Wanna pick me up in half an hour?” 

“As if there’s a world where I would ever turn down the opportunity to pick you up,” Bard laughed. 

“Great, because I do not want to be stuck at home all day. And I’ve already started getting ready.” 

“Are you doing your hair one-handed? I have to say Princess, I didn’t think you were that talented.”

“Oh, I’m very talented. I could do my hair one-handed and talk on the phone the entire time and not only would my hair be perfect, but you’d never even know that I’d been multi tasking. But I don’t have the patience for that today,” he said, and there was a rustling sound on the other end, and when Thranduil spoke again his voice was silky and deep and it sounded very, very close. “I have you on my headphones.” 

“Dammit, I was having fun imagining you trying to hold a phone and blow dry at the same time.” 

“Shut up,” Thranduil said, though the words held no heat. “I washed my hair last night before bed.” 

“Princesses don’t wash their hair every day? Or have servants to do it for them?” 

“I gave the servants the day off,” Thranduil sighed, and Bard could practically see him roll his eyes. “Do you want to take me out or not?” 

“I don’t know, it’s going to take me a while to get ready,” Bard joked, already pulling a pair of jeans from his closet. He switched the call to speakerphone so he could pull his pajamas off. “And hey, it’s supposed to be pretty warm today. We could take the bike if you want.” 

“If I want,” Thranduil’s voice was dripping with sarcasm. “As if there’s a world where I would ever turn down a ride on your bike.” He paused, and Bard was pretty sure he had a toothbrush in his mouth when he spoke next. “As if there’s a world in which _you_ would ever turn down a chance to ride the bike, even if I didn’t want to.” 

“It’s rude to talk with your mouth full, Princess.” 

Thranduil ignored the jab, and instead asked, “Did you put me on speaker?” Bard could hear him spit and then the sound of running water.

“I’m not as talented as some people I know; I need two hands to get dressed. Unless you want me to be late.” 

“Bard bowman,” Thranduil gasped, his tone thick with scandal and horror, “Are you naked while you talk on the phone with me?” 

“Well you’re half right,” Bard said, smirking even though there was no one to see it. “But I’m not completely naked; I still have a pair of boxers on. I think you’d like them, too. They have little red hearts all over them.” The line was silent again for a moment. “Oh I am so loving the image I have of you blushing right now.” 

“Shut up,” Thranduil said again, and Bard knew he was right. “You’d better be fully dressed when you come to pick me up. And hey—“ he added, “don’t pull into the driveway. Wait for me on the corner.” 

“Your dad home?” 

“Yeah,” Thranduil sighed audibly. “And he’s already said he doesn’t want me hanging out with your _type_.” 

The words stung a little, but Bard let them bounce off him, knowing they probably hurt Thranduil more than they could ever bother him. “The type who drive motorcycles? Or My Type as in tall, blond and beautiful?” 

“Mmm, you’re cute,” Thranduil hummed, “and you’re ridiculous.” 

“So that’s the _type_ your dad was referring to. Good to know.” 

“Okay, go, finished getting dressed. I know you need all your concentration as well as both your hands.” 

“I’ll be thinking of you the whole time.” 

“Gross,” Thranduil laughed, “your innuendo is not appreciated.” 

“Bye, Princess,” Bard smiled to himself as he ended the call. 

 

He was backing his motorcycle out of the garage less than ten minutes later, squinting up at the unseasonably bright sky. The late morning air was filled with the heavy grumble of his engine and the sun warmed the soft leather of his jacket, bouncing off the sheen of his helmet as he pulled it over his head. 

Fifteen minutes after ending their phone call, Bard turned into Thranduil’s neighborhood, killing the engine almost a full block away. He pulled his phone out to text Thranduil, and then walked the bike the rest of the way to the corner to wait. 

Thranduil came into view after a few minutes, his long hair loose in the wind and shining golden in the sun. He was bundled in his coat and scarf even though it was warm enough that Bard wore only a T-shirt beneath his jacket. He smiled as he drew nearer and Bard was struck, as he sometimes was, with how unlikely this all was. How easily Mr. Greyhame could have chosen someone else to be his lab partner, and how lucky he was that Thranduil had fallen in love with him. He pulled off his helmet and tipped his head up toward Thranduil, reaching out for him with one gloved hand. 

Thranduil didn’t even look around to see who might be watching, only leaned down and kissed him, right there in the middle of the street. Bard felt like he was dreaming— he almost let his bike fall over, so distracted by Thranduil’s lips that he lost his balance. Thranduil gave him a teasing, triumphant smirk as Bard unclipped the extra helmet from the rack on the back of the bike. He pulled it onto his head and climbed onto the back of the bike.

Bard turned around and edged the motorcycle forward a few more feet, only starting the engine again when they’d safely turned the corner. Thranduil’s arms came around him, chest pressed against Bard’s back, hands clasping tight around his waist as the engine revved and carried them onward into the bright day.

✥

For a while, they just drove. Bard took them out past the edge of town, until Thranduil was sure they would get lost among the winding country streets. They found a little village just outside Esgaroth, and stopped at a quaint sandwich shop in time for lunch.

Some time after they’d finished their food, the old woman behind the counter brought them a free pastry. They split it, and Thranduil scooped up some of the cherry preserve with the tip of his finger. He considered it for a moment, and then, making sure to put on his most adorable, most innocent face, bopped it right on to the tip of Bard’s nose. 

“Oh my god,” Thranduil laughed when he saw Bard’s face. He couldn’t stop, not when Bard was staring at him with such a wide-eyed look of shock and horror. 

“Did you really just— you put _jelly_ on my _nose_?!” Bard began to laugh too, but it only made Thranduil laugh harder. 

“You look like a red-nosed reindeer. Or like you’ve got a huge zit!” 

“And whose fault is that?” 

“Probably yours,” Thranduil shrugged. 

“And how do you figure that?” Bard asked. He was no longer laughing, but the shock and the glee of it still shone in his eyes.

“You’re just so cute,” Thranduil cooed. “And your nose was right there, and I had the pastry in my hand. I couldn’t help it.” Thranduil leaned in, as if he were about to kiss him, right up until he changed direction and closed his lips around the cherry jelly, practically slurping it off of Bard’s nose. Only then did he kiss him. 

“You’re so weird,” Bard told him, but the smile in his voice made it hard to take him seriously. Plus, he still had a little smear of red on his nose. 

“You love it,” Thranduil countered, and wiped off the remaining jelly with a napkin. 

“Oh god, I knew there was something strange about you. I never should have let Greyhame pair us together last year. You’re actually completely insane.” 

“Excuse me, I will take no blame in this. You have been flirting with me relentlessly ever since that very first dissection.” 

“I couldn’t help it,” Bard repeated Thranduil’s own words with a cloying tone. “You just look so cute with formaldehyde in your hair.” 

“I haven’t forgotten that, Bowman. Don’t think I have. The jelly was just the first part of my grand scheme for revenge.” 

“Oh really,” Bard folded his arms on the table and leaned in. “And what’s the other part? Kissing me to death?” 

“Mmm,” Thranduil hummed, mirroring Bard’s position and leaning in closer so that their lips were nearly touching. He could feel Bard’s breath warm on his skin, could see that the blurry shapes of Bard’s eyes were focused intently on his mouth. Thranduil drew his bottom lip between his teeth and watched with immense satisfaction as Bard unconsciously licked his own lips. “I guess you’ll just have to find out,” he finally whispered. 

Bard’s gaze flicked up, wide-eyed shock giving way to a playful glare. Thranduil stole a quick peck before sitting up and gathering his trash. 

“You’re terrible, do you know that? You’re actually the worst.” 

“I know,” Thranduil said over his shoulder. “You can tell me all about while we continue our date.” 

“A date?” Bard asked. “Which of us said this was a date?” Bard was smirking as he deposited his own trash in the garbage can, and he smiled as he followed Thranduil back out onto the sidewalk. 

“It became a date when you offered to pick me up on your motorcycle,” Thranduil said, holding on to Bard’s arm with both hands as they walked. 

“It’s the only reason you fell for me, isn’t it? Don’t worry, I can handle the truth.” 

“Obviously,” Thranduil laughed. “You didn’t honestly think you were being charming, did you? Your flirting is actually really atrocious.”

Bard stopped walking abruptly, tugging Thranduil to a halt along with him. “There’s nothing wrong with the way I flirt,” he argued. Thranduil could see he was struggling to conceal a smile.

“You made fun of me relentlessly, stole scalpels from me and called me Princess. Honestly. Do you still pull girls’ pigtails on the playground, too?” 

“Point of fact: you stole the scalpel from _me_ ,” Bard argued, “Plus, you love it when I call you princess. And thirdly, I haven’t tried to flirt with a girl since middle school, so I couldn’t say what’s acceptable flirting behavior anymore.” 

“Hair pulling was never acceptable flirting behavior, Bard. Nor was it ever effective, believe me.” Thranduil sighed and rolled his eyes, then tugged gently at Bard’s arm until he continued walking. 

“Did boys used to pull your hair on the playground?” 

“They continued to pulled my hair all the way up until you showed up. Apparently other people recognized your particular brand of terrible flirting and decided to back off.” 

“Wow, I had no idea I was that intimidating.” 

“No,” Thranduil shook his head, “I don’t think that’s it.” He could feel Bard looking at him, knew the exact look of confusion on his face without even having to look. 

“What then?” Bard asked. Thranduil struggled not to smile while Bard waited impatiently for an explanation. 

“It’s the bike,” he shrugged. “And the jacket too. They’re very cool. They completely cover up the fact that you’re a giant dork.” 

Bard laughed and wrapped an arm around him, pulling him close and pressing a kiss to his hair. Thranduil wrapped his own arm around Bard’s waist, his hand slipping beneath his unbuttoned leather jacket and the thin henley of his shirt to keep his fingers warm. They continued down the street like that, their shoulders pressed together and their knees knocking against each other with each step.

They didn’t leave the village for most of the afternoon. They spotted a used bookstore further up the road and spent over an hour browsing the mis-matched shelves and several tall, uneven stacks of books sitting on the floor. Bard chose books at random to leaf through, reading passages out loud as they made their way down the stacks. Thranduil took a more purposeful approach, searching for different editions of books he’d read before, picking up every one and running his hands along the curling yellowed pages. 

Soon the sun hung low in the sky, and they set off in the direction of home. Bard suggested they go to his house, since the rest of his family were away at one of his sister’s basketball games for the evening. By the time they made it there, the sun was down and the air had gone icy cold, but Thranduil tried not to complain. He’d enjoyed their date, and Bard made hot chocolate once they got inside. 

Thranduil stole the fuzzy green blanket from where it lay draped over the back of an overstuffed chair and huddled up close to him while they waited for the water to boil. Bard didn’t seem to mind, anyway. 

They curled up on the couch and found a movie on TV, though Thranduil didn’t pay much attention. He ended up laying out across the couch with his head in Bard’s lap and the fleece blanket thrown over the rest of him. One of Bard’s hands mindlessly played with Thranduil’s hair, brushing it away from his face repeatedly while Thranduil held on to his other hand. He ran his fingers along the edge of Bard’s thumbnail, traced the lines of his palm and the raised veins on the back of his hand. 

This was perfect. Thranduil was warm and content, and before he knew it, he’d fallen asleep. 

 

Bard woke him up some time later, though Thranduil couldn’t have said how late it was. “Do you want me to drive you home?” He asked. The TV had been muted and the house was still quiet. Thranduil shook his head. He didn’t want to leave. 

“Can I stay here?” 

“Yeah, of course.” 

“Your parents won’t mind?” 

“I don’t think so,” Bard laughed, but he kept his voice quiet, as if the silence was something he was careful not to break. He held his phone out so Thranduil could see. It was a conversation with his mom, beginning with a text from Bard letting her know that he was home after their date, and ending with one from his mom: _Is Thranduil staying the night?_

Thranduil smiled. It was such a small thing, but it made him feel glad that she’d thought of him, that she didn’t mind him staying. It made him feel warm and cared for. “I like your mom,” he said sleepily. 

“She likes you too.”

“She’s really nice.” 

“I will be sure to let her know.” 

“M’kay.” Thranduil's eyes slid closed again, and he might have gone back to sleep if Bard hadn’t nudged him again. 

“As much as I hate to say it, we need to get up.” Thranduil groaned, completely content to stay right there. “Come on Princess, it’s late. You can go back to sleep upstairs.” Thranduil groaned, but he knew Bard was right. He sat up slowly, stretching his neck and rubbing his eyes. Bard was already on his feet and Thranduil held his hands up in a silent request. 

Bard took his hands and helped him to stand, chuckling quietly when Thranduil immediately wrapped his arms around him and rested his head on Bard’s shoulder. “Come on. I’m sure we can find some PJs that will fit those long legs of yours.” 

 

The Bowman morning routine was loud and hectic, even on a sunday. Bard woke to the sound of his father calling cheerilyup the stairs: “Kids, breakfast!” 

Bard inhaled deeply, moving his limbs experimentally inside the knot of blankets around him. But then he blinked his eyes open and remembered: Thranduil had stayed the night. It wasn’t blankets wrapped up in Bard’s arms; it was Thranduil, still asleep, with his hair a careless mess around his head. Bard squeezed him gently, committing the feeling to memory. 

Thranduil was warm and soft, and he stirred slowly as Bard pressed his nose into the exposed junction of his neck and shoulder, breathing in the sleepy scent of him. He committed that to memory, too. He settled back against the pillow, too content to bother getting up for breakfast and completely unwilling to rouse Thranduil before he woke up on his own. 

When he did begin to stir, Bard pressed a kiss to the soft skin at the nape of his neck and stayed there, completely unbothered by the long blond hairs that tickled his face. 

“Morning,” Thranduil said, or at least that’s what Bard assumed he’d said. Really, it had come out as more of a garbled mash of sleep-rough sounds that Bard found too adorable to question. 

“Morning sleepy head,” he murmured. The rowdy sounds of breakfast drifted up the stairs, but they were muffled by distance and the calm air of Bard’s bedroom. “Breakfast is downstairs if you want some.” 

“Mmm,” Thranduil grumbled, “But you’re so comfy.” He found Bard’s hand where it had landed somewhere near his waist and tugged at it until he could hold it to his chest, pulling Bard closer in the process. Bard didn’t argue. Soon though, Thranduil’s stomach began to growl audibly, and they both forced themselves out of bed. 

The sight of Thranduil, standing barefoot in Bard’s room, wearing only a soft pair of Bard’s flannel pajama pants and an old T-shirt, his hair a tangled shock of blond bed head, was not one Bard was ever going to forget. He stood there for a moment, just watching as Thranduil rubbed sleepily at his eyes. 

“What?” Thranduil asked when he saw Bard staring. 

A thousand answers came to mind. _You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever met. I’m so lucky to know you. I’m never going to let you go._

“Nothing,” Bard said. He crossed the room to tug at the hem of Thranduil’s shirt, and reached up to steal a kiss. “You’re just really cute when you wake up.” 

“Gross,” Thranduil cringed, though he didn’t pull away. “Morning breath.” 

“What, princesses don’t have morning breath?” Bard kissed him again, for science. “Nope, you definitely have it too.” 

“Gross.” Thranduil’s stomach grumbled again. 

“Come on, let’s feed you.” Thranduil followed Bard down the hallway, close enough that he was able to reach out and grab hold of one of Bard’s fingers. He held onto Bard’s hand all the way down the stairs and into the kitchen, and it made Bard’s stomach do flips. 

“Morning boys,” his dad said. He stood in front of the stove in his pajamas and an apron, spatula dripping with pancake batter in one hand. “There’s fresh coffee in the pot, and I’ve got eggs and bacon coming up soon.” 

Bard pulled down a mug for coffee and, after exchanging a series of meaningful looks and gestures, retrieved one for Thranduil as well. 

It wasn’t long before Kim and Aly came jumping down the stairs, both bleary-eyed and sluggish from sleep. Bard’s mom came into the kitchen not long after, looking far more awake than any of the rest of them. “Good morning girls,” she said, leaning down to kiss them both on the cheek before moving to the other side of the table. “Boys,” She greeted, pressing soft kisses to the tops of both of their heads. 

“Morning mom.” 

“Morning Mrs. Bowman.” Thranduil was staring into his mug of coffee, his cheeks an adorable shade of pink. 

“Husband,” she greeted Bard’s dad at the stove with a kiss that Bard did not want to watch. 

“Wife,” his dad replied.

“You guys are so weird,” Kim grumbled, reaching for the plate of pancakes that had just landed in the middle of the table. 

 

After breakfast, Bard found a spare toothbrush for Thranduil to use and closed his bedroom door so he could change. Thranduil returned a few minutes later wearing his own clothes from the day before. “Aw,” Bard pouted, “I liked the bed head.” He ran his fingers through the last few inches of Thranduil’s brushed hair. 

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me how bad it was before we went downstairs,” Thranduil said “I looked like a couple of mice made a nest in my hair.” 

“A cute nest,” Bard laughed. “I didn’t think it was that bad.” 

“Yeah well, you’re the only one.” 

“Come on, Princess. Let’s get you home before you turn into a pumpkin.” 

Thranduil rolled his eyes, but turned to gather his stuff anyway. “Crap,” he muttered, holding his phone in his hands. “I have two missed calls from my dad.”

“At least it’s only two,” Bard said. “It could be worse, right?” 

“One phone call is uncommon,” Thranduil said, looking up at Bard from beneath his eyebrows. “Two is almost unheard of.” 

“Do you want to call him back?” 

“No,” Thranduil frowned. “I don’t even think I have enough battery left even if I wanted to.” 

“I’d say you could charge it on the way, but my truck doesn’t even have a cigarette lighter.” 

“Really?” Thranduil frowned again, this time in concentration as he seemed to focus on a point over Bard’s shoulder. “Can I borrow your phone?” 

“Why?” Bard asked, but he didn’t wait for an answer before he found his own phone plugged into its charger on the nightstand and handed it over. 

Thranduil ignored him for a moment while he typed, eyebrows still wrinkled in concentration. “That’s weird,” he said. “It was common for new cars to have electric lighters by 1926.” he shrugged. “Your truck is from the sixties, so it’s weird that it doesn’t have one.”

Bard blinked blinked at him in mild surprise, aware that he was staring but unable to bring himself to look away. 

“What?” Thranduil asked self-consciously. 

“You borrowed my phone to look up the history of electric cigarette lighters?” 

“Mine was about to die,” he said, as if this settled the matter completely. Bard supposed it did, when he thought about it, but he still couldn’t help but to laugh.

 

They spent most of the drive to Thranduil’s house in easy silence. Thranduil reached out to hook his pinkie around Bard’s where it rested on the gear shift between them. It made it a little awkward to shift, but Bard didn’t mind. There were few traffic lights on the way, and he let the truck cruise easily in third gear, turning his hand to rest palm up on the stick so he could hold Thranduil’s hand properly. 

Too soon, they pulled into Thranduil’s neighborhood. As he had the day before, Bard pulled to the stop on the corner. The weight of the remaining hours before they would see each other again hung heavy in the cabin, transforming their comfortable silence into something much more somber. The repetitive _click_ of the tape deck noisily counted down the endless seconds. 

“I know I’ll see you in class tomorrow, but that feels forever away.” Thranduil said. He held Bard’s hand in both of his own, bending the fingers and studying the creases that appeared around his knuckles. 

“I know,” Bard said. He couldn’t take his eyes off of Thranduil’s face. His brows were pulled into a small frown and his mouth pouted slightly, but he didn’t look as sad as he had before the weekend. He kissed Thranduil then, trying his best not to make it feel like a goodbye. Thranduil’s lips softened from their pout immediately, closing and parting around Bard’s effortlessly. 

It was difficult not to get swept up in Thranduil’s kisses, and Bard had to force himself to pull back, or else risk being carried away completely. 

 

He was nearly home again when his phone rang, and he answered it without taking his eyes off the road. “Hello?”

“Bard?” He didn’t have great service in this part of town, but he recognized Thranduil’s voice through the wobbly connection. Thranduil sniffed, and all at once Bard understood: the connection was fine. It wasn’t Bard’s signal that had made Thranduil’s voice sound uneven. He was crying. 

“Princess? Are you alright?” 

“Can you come get me?” 

“Of course,” he said, immediately pulling off onto the nearest side street. “What happened?” 

“Can you hurry?” 

“I’m already on my way, I’ll be there in ten minutes, tops. What happened? Thran?” But he didn’t get a reply. The line had gone dead. “Shit,” Bard spat, and stepped on the accelerator.

✥

The house was quiet when Thranduil stepped inside, but that didn’t mean anything; the house was always quiet. He took his time hanging up his coat and his scarf as the silence seemed to yawn in every empty room. His steps echoed as he walked down the hall, past the sitting room and the dining room, until a voice boomed from the living room.

“I called you. Twice.” His father was sitting in an overstuffed arm chair, a newspaper folded and ignored on his lap. 

“Sorry,” Thranduil said, “I didn’t see them until this morning, but I was already on my way back.” 

“Where were you?” 

“Out with friends,” Thranduil shrugged. 

“Which friends?” 

“Feren and Tauriel, he lied instinctively. 

“Really?” His father seemed to study him, as if he could spot the dishonesty hiding somewhere in the wrinkles of the clothes he’d worn the day before. “I had a business dinner last night with Feren’s father. He said Feren was away on a college tour all weekend.” 

“Yeah,” Thranduil stuttered, “he was. I met up with him in the morning and spent the rest of the day with Tauriel. Sorry I didn’t let you know I was going to spend the night. We went to a late movie and lost track of time.” 

“Thranduil,” his father said. His voice was calm, but his tone was sharp enough to be deadly. “I was in Erebor Village yesterday.” It took a moment for the words to sink in, for Thranduil to understand what they meant, but when they did, his breath seized in his chest. 

“I saw you there,” his father said, “With that boy.” His icy eyes found Thranduil in the dim light in the living room. Thranduil felt frozen. His heart raced arrhythmically and his breath was ragged. His vision swam and his pulse roared in his ears. “Are you going to tell me you were working on another school project?” 

Suddenly, Thranduil was moving. His ran up the stairs, his feet carrying him toward his bedroom before he even realized what he was doing. He slammed the door behind him and pulled his phone from his pocket. His vision had gone blurry and his fingers shook as he tried frantically to call Bard. He asked him to come back, had time to ask him to hurry before his phone went dark in his hand, the battery completely drained. 

The bedroom door swung open and there was his father, his tall frame nearly filling up the entire doorway. “Thranduil really,” he sighed, “there’s no reason to be dramatic.” 

Thranduil swallowed and wiped at his eyes, the old sting of chastisement and shame making his cheeks burn. He told himself that this wasn’t the end of the world. Worse things had happened to him in the past and worse things would happen again. He reminded himself that no matter what his father said, no matter what he did next, Thranduil had people who cared about him. He had a place to go. He had Bard, and as long as that was true, nothing that happened now could hurt him. 

“I told you to be smart about who you spend time with. People _talk_ , Thranduil, and you don’t want them talking about _you_.”

“And what are you worried they’ll talk about? Huh? Just say it.” 

“There are rumors around town about that boy—“ 

“Bard,” Thranduil spat. “His name is Bard.” 

“—And I won’t have people talking about you as if you’re some degenerate.” 

Degenerate. Thranduil turned the word over in his head, humorless laughter bubbling up in his throat. _Degenerate_. It stung, even though he hated admitting it. 

“And what if I am? What if it’s true? You raised a degenerate.” He flung the words with enough spite that his father actually flinched. A wry, satisfied smile curled Thranduil’s lips. “And you did it all on your own, too. You can’t even blame it on mom. Good thing she’s not here to see it.“ 

“How _dare_ you—“ Thranduil flinched back as his father stormed into the room with two bounding steps, coming to a halt and towering over him. His eyes were furious, and his teeth were bared, hand raised as if he’d meant to hit Thranduil. They stood there for a moment, before his father seemed to remember himself. He lowered his hand, fingers coiling into a shaking fist. 

Thranduil felt sick. Adrenaline fizzled and cracked along his skin while guilt twisted in his gut. He’d never meant to say those things about his mother, could hardly even believe he’d said to say them at all.

“Your mother—“ Thranduil’s father seemed to shrink right in front of his eyes. His shoulders fell and he closed his eyes, all the anger dissolving from the stern lines of his face. “If she could see us now, she… she would be so disappointed.” 

“Disappointed in me, you mean.” 

“No,” his father’s voice was back to its usual stoic calm, all the anger bled out of him. “She would be disappointed in me. She would never have let us become so distant. Let _me_ become so distant. If she were here, she never would have let you feel like you had to lie about who you were spending time with. She would have—“ 

His father’s voice cracked and he pinched the bridge of his nose, and it took a moment for Thranduil to understand what was happening. His father did not cry. Even when his mother died, Thranduil never saw him shed as much as a single tear. But now they were spilling over onto his cheeks, and Thranduil could do nothing but stare in shock. 

“She wouldn’t have cared that you’re different. She would love you regardless of who you chose to… of whether not you were…” 

“Gay.” Thranduil said. “I’m gay, dad.” His heart thudded hard against his ribs at the confession, even though he’d basically said as much already. 

His father closed his eyes and nodded, but his expression was unreadable. “I’m sorry,” he said finally. “I’ve been a terrible father to you. I’m sorry I made you feel like you couldn’t come to me, that you felt like you had to lie about who you are. I’m sorry I made you afraid.” 

Thranduil swallowed, his throat clenching with the ache of tears. “And what about being a degenerate?” 

“I was angry, and I let my anger speak for me. I don’t think that. I was worried about people thinking things about you that weren’t true.” 

Below them, Thranduil could hear the front door burst open, could hear Bard calling his name and his frantic boots on the hardwood. Thranduil met his father’s eyes briefly before stepping around him, leaving him standing alone in the middle of the room. “I’m up here,” he called. 

“Thran,” Bard’s voice echoed around the first floor and then suddenly, there he was at the bottom of the stairs. He wasted no time before he began to climb, taking the steps two at a time. Thranduil’s legs felt like jelly and he held tightly to the bannister, only managing to take two steps before Bard reached him. He took Thranduil’s face in his hands, thumbs wiping fresh tears from his cheeks while Thranduil clung to him. “Are you alright? What happened? Talk to me, are you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” Thranduil blubbered. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you.” 

“No, no, Thran don’t apologize. I’ve got you. Everything is going to be fine.” Bard wrapped his arms around him, holding him tightly. The the adrenaline and the fear had left Thranduil shaking, his legs trembling so badly he thought he would fall. He clung to Bard, letting his words wash over him. 

His father was standing at the top of the stairs. He seemed shorter, somehow; less intimidating than he had been in Thranduil’s bedroom, when they were on even ground. He passed by them on his way downstairs, pausing to lay a hand gently on Thranduil’s shoulder. “I hope we can talk some more,” he said. “I’ll be in the living room when you’re ready.” 

And then he left. They both watched as he silently descended the rest of the steps. Bard’s eyes were wide with confusion when he turned back to Thranduil. “What happened?” 

Thranduil sighed, exhausted, and let his forehead rest against Bard’s. “So… so much,” he said. “Everything is going to be fine, but I think I need to sit down.”

**Author's Note:**

> let me know what you think! leave a comment or find me on [tumblr](http://ofplanet-earth.tumblr.com) :)  
> and if you write a Barduil fic this month, please feel free to add it to the Barduil NaNoWriMo [collection](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Barduil_NaNoWriMo)!


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